Sherlock Holmes and the Phantom Thief
by Boss-Nass
Summary: During a wealthy party, a maid is murdered by gunshot and the hostess of the party becomes infatuated with Holmes when he begins to work on the case. Meanwhile, Holmes is baffled with the case a clever thief terrorizing the wealth of London.
1. The First Mystery

Disclaimer: All places, characters and ideas belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, aside from places, characters and ideas not mentioned in the Sherlock Holmes stories a/o movies.

* * *

**Sherlock Holmes and the Phantom Thief  
**by Sera Sleeklorn

-----

I. The First Mystery

The party was grand. Noblemen and their wives from across London had gathered at the Boswell Estate to attend the annual Christmas party, hosted by Count and Countess Boswell. Each year, the gathering seemed to become both merrier and classier.

Drink and food were served, naturally, by waiters walking around with trays of the finest champagne, in addition to long tables filled with the finest treats and hors d'oeuvres in all of England.

A small ensemble of string instruments, flautists, trumpeters, and a pianist were situated on an elevated platform in the entrance hall, all playing their instruments flawlessly, aside from the pianist, who was nibbling away at a piece of cake, as he obviously did not have a part in the composition.

There was a great chatter that wafted throughout the rooms, but did not overpower the loud playing of the instruments. Everyone was compiled into small groups, all having chats of diverse topics and so deep in discussion that it was nearly impossible for anyone who was not there initially to join in.

Women were dressed in their finest gowns, and adorned with their most expensive and appealing jewelry, hoping that they had dressed more beautifully than their peers, as they all wished to be the topic of discussion tonight. Men were dressed in their most expensive and elaborate jackets, shoes, and vests. Some even had replaced the buttons on their clothing to make the outfit seem all the more stylish.

Although the majority of the guests were noblemen and their wives, two men sat in a small sitting room, just off the entrance hall, near a table filled with treats, while they ate, drank, and talked about nothing of that much importance.

"Remind me of why I am here again?" The first said. He was dressed too casually for the occasion, but no one stopped and questioned him about his attire, because they all either knew him or knew of him, and thus already knew the answer.

This man went by the name of Sherlock Holmes, and he was a… somewhat respectable consulting detective whose methods were, to put it in good terms, questionable.

"You received a personal invitation from Countess Boswell, and it would be dishonorable of you not to attend. Besides, your absence would be bound to start rumors." The second man answered. This man, who went by the title of Inspector Lestrade, was also personally invited to the party by Countess Boswell, but he himself had she only asked him to be courteous, as she needed him to contact Holmes for her.

Holmes sighed. Why had he even come to this party? He had predicted this would happen – sitting where all the food was and discussing meaningless topics with Lestrade, that was.

"Who is this brilliant countess, anyhow?" Holmes asked, trying now to get on Lestrade's nerves. He knew very well who Countess Rosaline Boswell was, and who her husband was as well. Little over two weeks ago, Holmes had solved a case for the countess, in which some of her precious jewels were stolen while she and the count were out at a party. He had solved it in less than two days, but he could have done it in less if he had not been completely foxed the first day.

Lestrade sighed and rolled his eyes. It had pained him greatly to ask Holmes if he would attend the party with him, but sitting here and talking with the detective was even worse. He wished he had just lied to the countess and said that Holmes had previously set plans for the evening. Although, Lestrade knew that he would probably choke in the middle of his lie, and lose trust from the countess. He didn't answer Holmes, as he knew the detective was just asking these questions to aggravate him.

"Shut up, Holmes."

----------

"Oh, Mary… is he still there?"

"Yes, Milady, he's still there."

"And you're sure it's him?" Countess Boswell sat at her vanity, having her cosmetics and hair perfected by her handmaidens. She had not even shown herself to her husband yet, let alone all of her guests, so instead of peering out the door herself to look for the man she was expecting to see this evening, she had one of her maidens watching for him.

"It's him, countess. I remember his face from when he visited." Mary, the handmaiden at the door, said. She could hardly see the man, since he was seated in one of the sitting rooms, which was only slightly visible from the countess' dressing room door.

Countess Boswell smiled. She hoped that he would come tonight. She was looking forward to meeting the famed man. "Tell me, Mary: is Mr. Holmes a handsome man?" She inquired.

"He is decent, Milady. Although, he is dressed quite casually and looks like a ragamuffin fellow."

"Shut your mouth, Mary. I won't have you speaking of our guests in such a manner. I asked if he was handsome, not for you to affront him." Countess Boswell said quite snappily. She did not have any patience for her maids, especially when they had such audacity to insult one of her guests.

"Forgive me, milady. I was speaking without restraint."

"You are forgiven, Mary."

Although the countess would never admit to anyone but herself, she had developed a slight affection for Sherlock Holmes. She felt silly and childish when she pondered on her feelings, because she hadn't even met Mr. Holmes!

She had heard stories of him, and asked all of her staff what he was like when they had met him, but she had never actually met the detective herself. That was mostly the reason that she had invited him to the party tonight; the other reason was because she wanted to be polite and thank him in person for returning her precious jewels. Her husband was a bit shy of her reason for inviting Mr. Holmes, but of course she hadn't told him the former reason – only the latter. It wasn't that the countess wanted to be unfaithful to her husband, but it was just her infatuation with Holmes that got the better of her.

Since his big capture of Lord Blackwood, Countess Boswell had read stories about Sherlock Holmes in the newspaper and since then had been following him on every case, so interested in his methods. When her jewels had suddenly gone missing, the countess just as soon personally wrote a letter to Mr. Holmes and went down to his apartment, whose address she had learned through some research, and left the envelope in his letterbox, as he was not home that day.

When she came back from running errands that day, she learned from one of her maids that Mr. Holmes had stopped by to investigate. The maid had let him in to investigate, but she also said he had not found anything significant.

Nevertheless, Mr. Holmes stopped by again the next evening to say that he had figured the case and return the jewels. Of course, Count and Countess Boswell were out to a party, and did not learn of Mr. Holmes' visit until they returned later that evening to find the countess' jewels pack in her jewelry box.

The maid reported that Mr. Holmes failed to mention _who _the thief was, but Countess Boswell did not think that the perpetrator's identity was of that much significance, as long as he or she was brought to justice.

"Countess, Louis is signaling. Are you ready?" Mary asked as she poked her head back inside the ostentatious dressing room. She was speaking of the butler that was supposed to announce the count and countess before they descended the stairway.

Countess Boswell looked over herself one last time as her maidens stepped back and allowed her to take a look at herself. She was a beautiful woman – she didn't doubt that one bit. But was beautiful enough to make an impression on Mr. Holmes? That she wasn't sure of. No matter, she still looked absolutely, exceeding dashing.

----------

"So, where is the brilliant countess?" Holmes questioned Lestrade again, after taking yet another sip of the exquisite champagne that was being served by butlers walking around the party. He wasn't sure how they kept their trays level, but they did it well.

Lestrade truly wished that he had just stayed home this evening. He thought that he would be talking palaver with all the noblemen of London, and increasing his good reputation. Alas, 'twas not so. He saw no one that he had ever spoken with, and therefore no one to greet casually and strike up a conversation with. So now, he was stuck with Holmes. He didn't answer the detective, as he hadn't been.

Abruptly, the music stopped and there was a loud male voice that overpowered the heavy chatter and made everyone stop to listen: "Ladies and noblemen, may I direct you all to gather in the main entrance hall; I have an important announcement."

The congregation of guests crowded into the large entrance room, Lestrade and Holmes among them. The room was only somewhat crowded, but that was only because everyone was trying to get to the front of the crowd, near the staircase leading to the balcony, where the man that had spoke was standing. Holmes was content with his place at the back of the crowd, near the entrance to the sitting room he had just previously been seated in.

The man that stood on the balcony was dressed just as fancy as any guest at the party, but from certain parts of his attire, Holmes could tell that this rather elderly man was part of the Boswell's staff. He waited for all the guests to be settled in their positions and for the final of the chatter to stop before speaking.

"Ladies and noblemen, I would like to present to you your host and hostess for this evening: The Right Honourable the Count James Boswell and his countess, Rosaline Estrada Boswell."

The guests all clapped loudly as the butler stepped back from the limelight, and everyone waited for the count and countess to appear at the top of the stairwell, adorned in their fancy clothing that outshone anyone else's at the party.

"Is this how they operate at wealthy parties? To make their guests wait and then announce themselves as if they were the new Messiah?" Holmes asked rhetorically, and quite snappily, as he didn't wish to be at this party, but knew if he was to be seen leaving the party early, it would cause gossip, and he didn't want women whispering to each other as he passed them on the streets. It wasn't that he cared if anyone spoke rotten of him, it was just that he found it annoying.

Lestrade ignored him, as he had been doing for the whole evening, and clapped along with the rest of the guests. Holmes didn't clap, but only folded his arms across his chest and leaned back onto the doorframe that separated the entrance hall to the sitting room, and yawned lazily.

----------

Countess Boswell stepped out of her dressing room, her maids still putting the final touches on her outfit and hair. She saw her husband across the balcony, and he smiled at her, looking more handsome then ever. She was then brought back to reality as her husband began moving down the hallway, towards the top of the stairwell.

Mary whispered something uninterruptible in her ear, but the countess knew that she was giving her the cue to start walking. She was comfortable in her heeled boots, but they didn't make any sound on the polished floors as she and her heavy dress glided along the balcony walkway. She soon met her husband near the top of the stairs, she on one side of the stairwell and he on the other. Louis, part of the staff, stood between them, announcing them to the guests.

When he was done speaking, she and her husband waited the practiced five seconds before stepping into the view of the guests. Before turning to the crowd, she grabbed her husband's hand and gave him a little peck, then a smile. They both turned to the stairwell and descended a few steps, the countess holding her skirt so that she could walk down the stairs properly, and her husband still grasping her hand firmly.

Countess Boswell scanned the crowd for a few men that she thought might be Sherlock Holmes. She managed to catch sight of Inspector Lestrade, whom she was quite familiar with. Standing not too far from him was a slim man, adorned in the most casual and ruffled clothes she had seen in a long time. His clothes were all too big for him, especially his jacket, which seemed to wrinkle with every move he made.

He must have noticed her staring, because he gazed right back at her, making the countess blush slightly. She averted her gaze back to the general crowd as she and her husband reached the bottom of the stairwell, where many of their closest friends proceeded to greet them with hugs and kisses on the cheek.

When Countess Boswell tried to look back to Mr. Holmes, her gaze was blocked by the massive crowd of guests that were all trying to greet the hosts.

----------

The countess was beautiful… more beautiful than anyone or anything Holmes had ever seen. The perfect curvature of her jaw… her big brown eyes… heart-shaped lips… a bodacious figure, only accented by the expensive gown she wore. She obviously wasn't shy about her looks, either. The way she descended the stairwell was obnoxious, in that good sort of way. She was well aware that she was the most beautiful woman in the room – perhaps in all of London, or the Europe, even. He could see why the count married her, before anyone else did.

As Holmes combed up her body, he soon met her eyes, which gazed back at him flirtatiously. Then, as if she was suddenly stricken by his stare, she snapped her attention back to the horde of guests that had swelled up around the bottom of the stairwell, whom they were steadily descending towards.

He continued to scan her body with interest, searching for even the most insignificant imperfection, but before he could find one, she was swallowed up by the crowd of noblemen and women and no longer in sight.

Lestrade must have caught him staring at the dazzling countess, because he soon enough slapped the back of his gloved hand on Holmes' arm, bringing him out of his daydream, which had become quite pleasurably inappropriate since he lost sight of the countess.

"Holmes, would you please to stop drooling like that? You look like a dog." Lestrade said, exaggerating the vowels in his nouns and verbs to make his annoyance with the detective as apparent as possible.

Holmes brought the edge of his jacket across his mouth and found that he actually had been drooling – only slightly, though – Lestrade wasn't just saying that for dramatic effect. He was sure that no one but Lestrade had noticed, though – everyone else was all too busy focusing on Count and Countess Boswell.

"There is not point as to being here," Holmes grumbled, partially to himself and partially to Lestrade. He began to make his way back to where he had been seated previously – in the sitting room – with Lestrade on his tail.

"On the contrary, Holmes," Lestrade said, sitting down in one of two chairs placed in the corner of the room, next to his companion. "Countess Boswell invited you personally. I'm sure that she has some intent to speak to you this evening. And she is quite the sight, according to your previous drooling." He said the last part with a bit of sass.

Snickering at the inspector, Holmes held his glass out as a waiter holding a bottle of champagne passed by and only spoke after the waiter was done pouring the expensive alcohol.

"Inspector Lestrade," A female voice said, and since both the men had been looking down at their drinks, they both had to quickly snap their heads up in order to see who it was approaching them.

Lestrade stood as soon as he recognized Count and Countess Boswell. He nearly spilt his drink in the process, but the glass still remained in his hand. Holmes was sluggish at standing up, but did so nonetheless.

"I'm so glad that you could make it, inspector. James, darling, this is Inspector Lestrade, the man I was telling you about?" She introduced the two, and they both shook hands and exchanged greetings.

They all stood there awkwardly for a moment, the countess looking at Holmes and trying to hold a smile back, as she waited for the inspector to introduce them.

"Milady, milord… this is Sherlock Holmes." Lestrade said, almost angry as he was reminded that Holmes was the only real reason he was invited to the party this evening.

Countess Boswell almost practically erupted into a jubilee as she and Holmes shook hands. "I'm so glad that you could come, Mr. Holmes. I've been looking forward to thanking you for finding my jewels in person." Her words sounded sincere, not like they had when she greeted Lestrade.

"Thank you for inviting me, countess. I'm quite honored to be here, just for a small deed." Holmes said sincerely, although his sincerity wasn't genuine, but he was sure that no one could tell.

"It was not a small deed, Mr. Holmes, to take time out of your day for such a petty theft." Count Boswell spoke up, shaking Holmes' hand firmly.

There was an awkward silence again, but the countess was quick to interrupt it.

"I warrant that Dr. Watson is somewhere around here with that darling fiancé of his?" Countess Boswell said, smiling brightly and looking around the area to see if she could catch sight of the doctor and his soon-to-be bride.

Holmes shook his head once in confusion. "I'm sorry – are you a familiar of Dr. Watson?"

Countess Boswell nodded, somewhat confused at Holmes' reaction. "Yes. I asked Inspector Lestrade to invite you and the doctor, as I heard that you and he were great friends. Did he have other plans?"

As a short silence fell upon the group of four, all eyes seemed to turn to Inspector Lestrade. He cleared his throat as if he was slightly embarrassed at the mention of his name. "I… thought it best not to invite Dr. Watson. You see…" He paused for a moment, and wondered if he should bring up the recent complications between Holmes and Watson. "… Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson--"

He was quickly interrupted by Holmes. "Watson and I haven't spoken in some time – ever since he and Mary were betrothed."

"Oh, forgive me. I was not aware…"

"There is no need to apologize, countess. It is not a delicate subject for me, as most think it as so." Holmes said in fact.

Yet again, there was a silence that befell the group.

"Mr. Holmes, would you honour me with a dance?" Countess Boswell asked abruptly, already holding out her hand for Holmes to take, as if no one could refuse an offer to dance with her. She smiled at him, and waited impatiently for his acceptance to her invitation.

Holmes first snuck a glance at the count. He watched his wife's hand as she offered it, and seemed somewhat angry, although Holmes felt that it was often for the countess to dance with another man. Did Count Boswell see his wife as being unfaithful by dancing with another man before he? By taking the countess' hand, Holmes considered that he might anger the count, and angering a member of peerage never had a pleasant aftermath. But by declining the countess' hand, he might upset her, and again, have a member of peerage angry – even in the slightest – at him.

As he opened his mouth, though, instead of words, a loud gunshot sounded from upstairs, and several screams erupted from about the house.


	2. A Capella

II. A Capella

Everyone reacted in different ways to the sound of the gunshot – Lestrade splashed his drink onto himself as he twitched; Countess Boswell instinctively grabbed onto her husband's arm and kept herself tight to him; the count held fast at his wife, gripping her closely to him and ready to protect her if need be; Holmes kept himself composed, and only frowned as some of Lestrade's champagne splashed onto his jacket.

Screams aroused from around the household, all feminine, naturally. There were also several clatters as the waiters who had been serving and replenishing guests' drinks lost grip of their champagne glasses and bottles, and they shattered on the ground.

"My God! What _was_ that?" Count Boswell exclaimed once he had settled down enough to speak. He held his wife in one arm, and his other hand was placed over his heart. Holmes was sure that it was beating far past its usual pace.

"Well, it sounded like gunfire." Holmes responded, although he knew that the count's question was rhetorical.

"Oh, James! Why would someone have a gun?" The countess said, still clinging onto her husband. Her eyes were wide and full of fear, and she looked off toward the entrance hall, where the gunshot had sounded from.

The count did not answer his wife at first, and let go of her as she unlinked her arm from his. "Darling, why don't you stay down here and try to calm the guests?"

Countess Boswell nodded and left the dining room, disappearing into the multitude of scared and shocked guests.

"Inspector Lestrade; Mr. Holmes," Count Boswell said, turning to the two men. "Would you accompany me upstairs to examine the premises?" He asked, as Holmes expected he would.

Lestrade nodded. "Of course, milord." He spoke for both he and Holmes.

"Please, do call me James."

"Of course, James." Lestrade corrected himself according to the count's request.

The three men made their way from the small sitting room and into the entrance hall. Everyone seemed to be watching them, and since the ensemble had stopped playing, Count Boswell motioned for the composition to continue, and so the musicians did as they were told.

They headed up the stairs, where the gunshot had sounded from. Only a few steps from the balcony, a woman dressed in the garb of a chambermaid met them.

She was pretty, with messy blond hair and bright blue eyes that shone out from her pale skin. She was considerably short and frail-looking, and her face was full of fear, yet strangely curious.

"Oh, milord! It was a gunshot, I assume! Oh, I don't dare go in there!" The maid's face became twisted and a tear fell down her cheek, but James was quick to interrupt her before she could begin bawling.

He placed his hands on either one of her shoulders. "Mary, where did the gunshot come from?"

The chambermaid had to look up at him, as he was much taller than her. "The countess' bedroom. Perhaps it is the thief that stole the countess' jewels!"

The count ignored Mary's belief and continued to lead Lestrade and Holmes down the pathway of the balcony, leaving her. Holmes turned his head to look back at the chambermaid, who was looking at the trio of men worriedly as they walked toward the countess' dressing room.

"Do you treat all of your staff with such... _affection_?" Holmes asked sarcastically, looking back to the count, who walked closely ahead of him.

Count Boswell caught his obvious sarcasm, but did not return it whatsoever. "Mary is perfectly capable of caring for herself." He said in fact as just as they stopped in front of a rather ornate door that Holmes guessed was to the countess' bedroom.

The count put a finger over his lips, signalling for the other two men to be quiet as he reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a pistol. Lestrade seemed shocked, but Holmes figured that more than half the noblemen attending the party tonight had loaded pistols with them, but they were without the knowledge of how to use it properly.

He pushed the door open slightly, and peered in the room, the gun pointed inward. Slowly, Count Boswell inched into the room until finally, he was wholly inside. "No one's here," He announced, and Holmes and Lestrade entered.

Inside, the room was grand – even more so than the rest of the house. The room was average for a house of its size, and the quality and elegance of the décor was quite fitting. The main furniture of the chamber consisted of a grand bed, with beautiful covers and pillows, along with elegant woodwork on the headboard.

Placed against the wall opposite the bed was detailed wooden bureau, and above it was an open window with the cold draft of winter wafting through it. Opposite the door, there was a settee placed by another window, most likely for the brilliant countess to lounge about on.

"The perpetrator must have escaped through there." Holmes concluded, gesturing to the open window above the countess' bureau. Since the freezing winter wind was coming through and making the room even colder, he hurriedly shut the window and drew the curtains.

"Oh, my…" Count Boswell said. He had already wandered across the room, and was now looking down at the floor in dismay. Holmes perked up at his sigh, a tried to meet what he was looking at, but his vision was blocked by the countess' ostentatious, large bed.

Lestrade and Holmes hurried over to the count's side of the room and looked down at the floor. Lying there, dead, was a young woman dressed in a maid's garb. She had dark hair and pale skin, and a gunshot threw her chest.

"Do you know who she is?" Holmes asked, staring down at the dead body of the woman. She was pretty, if you were to disregard the fact that she was dead.

"Her name is Lorraine Matthews. She is..." Count Boswell quickly corrected himself. "…she _was _part of our staff… a chambermaid."

Silence coated the room as the three men stared down at the woman, all wondering what to do. Holmes supposed that the party would have to be interrupted and Lestrade would insist on starting the investigation as early as possible, although, Holmes himself would have it no other way.

"Well, I suppose that we will have to announce this to the guests." Lestrade said, breaking the silence.

The count rose from his kneeling position beside the maid. "No." He said, still looking down at her.

Lestrade looked at him, wide-eyed. "No?"

"Are you deaf?" The count repeated, "No."

"But we _must_ tell the guests. How are we to explain to them the officers that will be coming through?" Lestrade griped, looking at the count as if he had become psychotic.

Count Boswell turned away from the body to face the two men. "We'll let the party go on. You can fetch your men from Scotland Yard afterwards, but for now, we leave Lorraine here."

"Have you gone mad?" Holmes chimed in. He gestured to the corpse of the young woman. "You can't simply leave the dead body of a chambermaid in the middle of your wife's bedroom!"

The count narrowed his gaze at the detective, and discreetly clenched his jaw. "I suggest you pipe down and reassess your position on the social ladder, Mr. Holmes, unless you'd like there to be a second body for the Scotland Yard to investigate." He looked over the man with a disgusted look.

As Holmes was just about to retort, the count pushed past him. "If you would be so kind as to excuse me, my guests await me." He stopped as he reopened the door to leave, and then turned back to the two men. "I'd very much appreciate it if you would both accompany me."

Holmes knew why the count wanted them out of the room – to make sure that they didn't touch the body or ruin the crime scene in any way.

"Of course," Lestrade answered for both of them, and hurriedly rushed out of the room behind the count.

"Are you coming, Mr. Holmes?" Count Boswell said once the detective did not move from his place beside the dead body.

Holmes turned to the door, where the count stood, waiting. Past him, out in the corridor, Lestrade strolled away, to rejoin the party. He turned his head once to look at Holmes and the count, but then returned his attention back to what was in front of him and continued walking.

"Yes." He answered the count, then stepped over the body and let Count Boswell hold the door open for him, but just as soon, the count stopped him before he could step foot in the hallway.

His eyes were serious, and his jaw was clenched. "If I find out that you spoke a single word of this to anyone, I will have you blacklisted before you even conclude your thoughts." He said this all in one word, then swiftly turned from Holmes and gestured for him to follow.

Was Count Boswell always like this? Or just when his wife wasn't around to see him? Without pondering on this thought too long, Holmes followed behind, but stopped and stepped back into the shadows when the count raised his voice.

He stood at the top of the stairwell, looking over the crowd of guests. "If I may gather your attention, ladies and noblemen," He announced in a thunderous voice, bringing everyone's interest back to the entrance hall. "Some of you may be wondering what in the world that ear-splitting sound was," He paused. "Some of you may have been stricken with fear, but you have nothing to worry about, unless you are frightened by a maid accidentally knocking over an armoire."

The congregation of guests expressed their false amusement with a polite laugh, and the count also let out a little chuckle for himself.

"So, please continue with your evening and I assure you that there is nothing to be afraid of." As Count Boswell stepped back, the previous chatter continued and the tone of their voices seemed more cheery and light-hearted than before, now that the gunshot was off of their minds.

The count turned to Holmes once he was finished. "I suggest you go back downstairs and rejoin the party, Mr. Holmes. I will be taking care of this..." He paused to think of an appropriate word. "… situation."

Holmes watched as the count walked back to the countess' room, stopping a redheaded chamber maid on the way. Not caring what he said to her, Holmes continued on his way back down the stairs.

He received a few looks from some of the guests, but no one really stared at him all that much. He moved through the crowd aimlessly, perhaps looking for Lestrade, perhaps looking for some alcohol – he himself really wasn't sure of either.

"Mr. Holmes!" He recognized the voice of Countess Boswell, and reluctantly turned around to face her as she approached him.

He smiled, hiding his aggravation. He just wanted to be left alone. "What is it, my dear lady?" He said, feigning politeness.

She smiled back, and Holmes could tell that she had seen through his sarcasm, but she her words did not express that. "Well, I have two things that I would like to discuss with you, but first: you never answered my invitation to dance." The countess smirked.

Holmes referred back to his previous reasoning: the countess would be offended if he did not accept her invitation, but if he did it might anger the count even more. Then again, Count Boswell wasn't here anymore, was he?

"Are you sure that your husband would not mind us dancing?" He asked, trying to weasel his way out of the dance. He wasn't that good of a dancer, and he didn't want to draw the attention of the guests.

The countess continued to smirk. "My husband is unable to mind if he does not know." She said coolly.

He thought about this for a moment, and then quickly made his decision.

"I apologize, Countess, but I'm afraid I must respectively decline. I'm not quite in the mood for dancing, even with such a fine lady as yourself."

Countess Boswell's smirk slowly faded from her face, and her lips sulked slightly before turning to a neutral shape. "I understand, Mr. Holmes. It's quite alright. Besides, I'm sure you're right; my husband would become quite angry if he knew that I had danced with another man. He's a bit possessive of me, you see."

"What was the second thing you wish to ask? You said there were two things." Holmes asked after there was a bit of a silence between the two of them.

The countess looked away for a moment, as if to think of what she wanted to ask. "Oh, yes. I was hoping that I could persuade you into telling me what you three men actually found upstairs." She paused, "And I would greatly appreciate it if you did not address me as milady, nor countess, or any other formal honorific, any longer."

He smirked. "Of course, but what else do you consider appropriate for me to address you as?" said he.

"Rosaline will do. Though, my dear friends choose to call me Rose, and you may also do so, if you wish."

"With that aside, Rosaline," He paused for only a second to admire how gracious her name felt as it rolled off his tongue. "I do not at all doubt your desire to know what occurrences are going on upstairs --"

She interrupted him, "It is more of a curiosity than a desire, Mr. Holmes."

He quietly cleared his throat and continued as if she had never interrupted him. "but, your husband has instructed Lestrade and I to speak not a word of it."

Rosaline rolled her eyes. "My husband is too precautious. I was not so curious about the matter until he gave that suspicious announcement. I can always determine when James is lying or not."

"Is that so?"

She nodded. "_Quite_ so, Mr. Holmes. When you've been married to a man for so many years you begin to be able to determine whether your spouse is telling the truth, or lying. James, of course, was lying."

"How can you tell? There must be some type of way that you go about this determination."

She pouted. "Mr. Holmes, you're avoiding my question. What is it that is so secretive that my husband is hiding it from me? Surely it can't be too dire." The countess said.

"Is there some where else more secluded than this in the house?" Holmes said in a soft voice, not wanting their conversation to be heard by any of the guests. "I would like it much better if we could discuss this in private."

"Well, there are the gardens, but it's awfully cold outside, and it would not be very comfortable." Rosaline made no effort to soften her voice or to keep their conversation hush-hush.

"Of course not!" said he.

"Then my study should be unoccupied at this time – the chamber maids have probably retired, and it's near the rear of the house, so no one should discover it there." She said. After receiving a concurring nod from Holmes, the countess swiftly turned around and led the way through the dense crowd of guests.

The pair passed through the entrance hall, another parlour, a dining room, and a large kitchen with servers making their way in and out, holding trays of champagne. Holmes struggled to follow the countess, as everyone stepped aside for her, but not for him.

Once they had made it through the kitchen, the pair emerged in a narrow, long hallway. On one end was a door, most likely leading out to the gardens. On the other end was an open archway that led back out into the party. Holmes asked himself why the countess hadn't led them through that way, but suspicion from the guests would have been a result of that.

"The study is through here," She called to Holmes, gesturing to a tall and narrow door. The countess pulled at the chain that rested around her neck, and revealed its pendant, which had been residing underneath her collar.

As she pulled it out, Holmes could see that the pendant was a skeleton key, worn and rusted, most likely from years of use. After Countess Boswell had placed the key into the keyhole and turned it, the door swung open to reveal a narrow staircase leading up to yet another door.

"Mysterious." He commented.

The countess giggled. "Very." She agreed.

The pair ascended the stairwell, only to have the countess have to fumble with the skeleton key again. The door swung open, this time away from them, revealing a dark room. The moonlight shone through a single, but large, window, giving the room an eerie presence.

"There should be a candle around here somewhere..." The countess said as she stepped into the room and then into the shadows, where Holmes lost sight of her. He stepped into the room, also, but did not move anymore, for he was afraid that he might trip over something.

There was a spark of light, and then Holmes could see the countess across the room, holding a tall, thin candle in her hand. She shut the curtains rather hurriedly and then moved around the room, lighting some other candles before returning the candle that she held to its stand. The whole room was lit now, and Holmes could find his way about the study.

It was a cramped room, but very warm and cosy. By the window that was now blocked by thick curtains sat a desk, piled with papers and books of every sort. On top of a stack of books dangerously sat a lit candle. Two of the room's four walls were hidden by shelves with books spilling out of them, along with random figurines and small treasures lining the top.

Placed in the middle of the room was a worn sofa with a pillow and blanket lying on it, then a book lying open on the pillow, much like the one he had seen earlier in the countess' bedroom. Next to the sofa was a small, round glass table with an unfinished plate of some sort of tart on top of it. Books were piled up at the foot of the sofa, naturally.

"I apologize for the mess," The countess said as she noticed how he stared at the disorder of the study. "I can never seem to find the time nor inspiration to tidy it up."

Holmes smirked; she had obviously never seen his own little study. "There is no need to apologize, countess."

"Please, do call me Rosaline."

"Then there is no need to apologize, Rosaline." Holmes corrected himself. "I am not all that tidied up myself. My bedroom is an absolute mess."

She took a seat on the sofa, but kept her back erect and postured. "You see, Mr. Holmes, that is understandable. You are a hard-working detective, whereas I am merely an ordinary countess. The only priorities I have are to attend a weekly sewing club and occasionally a tea party. I have the time to organize my study, but I am simply too lazy to do so."

"That is understandable." Holmes remarked.

"Mr. Holmes," Rosaline said after there was a moment of silence. She rose from her seat and stood next to him. "You are going to tell me, aren't you? What you found, I mean?"

"Of course I will." He paused. He didn't know how he was going to go about this. The count's words echoed in his ears: _"If I find out that you spoke a single word of this to anyone, I will have you blacklisted before you even conclude your thoughts."_

"Well?" She asked expectantly after a few seconds.

He took a deep breath. "You have a chambermaid named Lorraine in your employ, correct?" He asked.

"Yes, but," Rosaline looked at him curiously, wondering what role the chambermaid played in this mess. "What does she have to do with the matter?"

"The sound that everyone jumped at was indeed a gunshot, as I had initially concluded." Holmes said. "Lorraine, unfortunately, was the one who ended up with the bullet."

Her eyes ran wild, and the countess seemed to be in utter shock. Tears swelled up around at the corners of her eyes and her lip began to quiver.

"Oh, hold me!" She exclaimed dramatically, and fell into his arms. She buried her face into his shoulder, and he could feel her tears as they began to stain his jacket.

Holmes reluctantly held her, but did not enjoy the feeling of tears soaking his clothing.

Suddenly, someone a great force thrust open the door of the study with a loud clatter, knocking over a stack of books.

Rosaline instantly stepped away from Holmes, and he let go of her just as soon.

In the doorway stood a maiden with fiery red hair curlier than any he had ever seen before. She was young, in her late teens perhaps, with extremely fair skin.

Her eyes were wide, and her jaw fell a few inches as she saw the two embracing each other.

"Rhoda!" Rosaline said in a short-tempered tone.

"I'm so sorry!" The young maid said enthusiastically. "I should have knocked!"

"How right you are!" Rosaline replied, less angrily than before. "Now, explain yourself. Why have you come to my study?"

"Count Boswell... he was looking for you, and he sent me to do so also. I... just though you might be in your study... and... since the doors were unlocked..." She was obviously nervous in front of the countess, and kept her head titled downwards nearly the whole time she spoke.

Rosaline nodded. "Very well. Where is James now?"

"The last instance I saw him, he was in the blue parlour, speaking with Baron and Baroness Lynch, Countess."

"Good. Now, extinguish these candles, go back to your quarters and never speak a word of this instance to anyone. Do you understand?" The countess commanded.

The red-headed chambermaid nodded, and Rosaline led her guest down the stairs to rejoin the party.

"I will come back to lock the study afterwards," She thought aloud.

Instead of taking the long way through the kitchen and such, the pair, after descending the stairwell, walked down the long and narrow hallway to rejoin the party.

"My dear!" The Count called once he saw his wife walking towards him. He frowned somewhat when he laid his eyes on Holmes, but smiled for his reputation's sake. He embraced his wife, and lovingly left his arm around her waist. "Where did you run off to?"

Rosaline struggled to compose an excuse for the moment, and her eyes turned to Holmes for help.

"I found her tucked away in her study." He lied, "A chambermaid was searching for her, and asked for my assistance, being an expert in that sort of thing."

"Ah, yes. I asked Rhoda to go and search for you." Count Boswell said to his wife. "I didn't want you to miss out on all of the fun." He gestured to the party that surrounded them.

There was an awkward silence as no one could think of anything else to say.

"Oh, Christopher, Winnie... I don't believe you've met Mr. Holmes." Rosaline chimed in. "He's a... how would you put it? ...He solves the most difficult of cases that even men in the Scotland Yard cannot fathom! He located my stolen jewels, you know."

The young couple that Count Boswell had been chatting with now shook hands and greeted Holmes, introducing themselves as Baron Christopher and Baroness Winifred Lynch.

"I've read about you in the post on several occasions, Mr. Holmes." The baroness said, smiling brightly. She was young, with dark eyes and hair.

"Yes, I have a friend that has spoke well of you." The baron said. He, too, was young, with bright eyes and flaxen hair.

"I'm glad to hear that at least some one thinks well of me." Holmes said, sarcastically.

"The four others replied with a small, polite chuckle.

"Are you here with anyone else, Mr. Holmes?" The baroness asked.

"A woman, you mean?" He chuckled. "Oh, no, no..."

She furrowed her brow. "You don't mean to tell me that you have no suitor? A charming and clever man like yourself should have women swooning for him." She smiled at him, though he could not tell if her demeanour was meant to be flirtatious or simply polite.

Rosaline was quick to change the subject. "Mr. Holmes, have you seen the inspector? I would like to introduce him to the Baron and Baroness here."

"Darling," Count Boswell chimed in. "I recall catching sight of him in the red parlour not too long ago. Why don't you go ahead and take care of the introductions? I would like to have a word with Mr. Holmes."

She looked suspicious for a moment, and her eyes sprinted from her husband to Holmes and back, but she agreed. "Alright, just hurry along."

The count waited until his wife, the baron and the baroness were out of audible range to begin his conversation with Holmes.

"Would you care for a glass of champagne, Mr. Holmes?" He asked, suspiciously cheery.

"Why not?" He replied without a flaw in his voice.

Count Boswell called a server over and got from him two glasses of the alcohol, one of which he handed to Holmes. They gave a small toast, and each took a sip of the liquid.

"You are going to be working on Lorraine's murder, are you not, Mr. Holmes?" The count asked.

"Most likely, yes."

"Thus you will be spending plenty of time around the estate?"

"Of course."

"Then I could conclude that Rosaline will be accompanying for most of your visits?" He took another sip of his champagne.

Holmes remained silent for a few moments. He knew where their conversation was headed. "I would imagine so."

"My wife takes quite a liking to you." The count said. "She has for some time, now."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. She seems almost obsessed. Every day she asks me to bring home the paper so that she can scan every single page for updates on your latest activity." The reminder of this seemed to upset him, but the count maintained his composure and swiftly took a sip of his champagne.

"She cuts out each and every article that mentions your name and keeps them in an album on her bookshelf. Every day she doesn't find a new article about you, she goes back and rereads them all."

Holmes frowned. "That does seem a bit... obsessive."

Count Boswell nodded. "So you can see how a husband of this type of woman could be concerned. I fear that she will do something rash, like leaving me for..." His lip curled slightly and he looked over Holmes. "A commoner."

They drank for a few moments in silence, reflecting upon the matter which they had been discussing.

"Would you just promise me, Mr. Holmes, that you will not lay a hand on my wife? She is truly very dear to me, and it would kill me if she was to leave me." The count confessed, with a sad tone to his voice.

Holmes felt a pity for this man. He understood why the count opposed him so much. A husband was naturally protective of his wife, especially when she is as beautiful as Countess Boswell.

"Count, I have and have never had any intentions to touch your wife, and I promise you that I will never do so."

This made the count smile. "I thank you, Mr. Holmes." He shook his guest's hand. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to return to my wife – she awaits me."

He turned from Holmes and disappeared into the crowd.

_This is going to be a long case,_ Holmes thought. _Especially without Watson to accompany me._

_

* * *

_

Sorry for the long wait. Thoughts, concerns, theories, suggestions?


	3. The Phantom Thief

III. The Phantom Thief

After everyone at the party had left, Lestrade had gone off to the Scotland Yard, escorted by one of the Boswell's chauffeurs and footmen, while Holmes stayed behind to further investigate the crime scene.

Countess Boswell had gone to stay with a friend of hers, since the investigation would go all through the night and possibly longer.

Count Boswell had gathered all of his staff and told them of Lorraine's fate, some weeping for the loss of their friend, others sipping leftover champagne and not being able to care less about the death of a co-worker. The count was now attempting to assist Holmes in his investigation, which only resulted in frustration and annoyance between the two, but they only continued to explore the estate together.

"Oh, this is useless, Holmes!" The two men's aggravation toward one another had grown to such a level that they were now addressing each other informally. "We should wait for Inspector Lestrade to return. He will know what actions to take."

The two men were now in the private gardens of the Boswell estate, standing beneath the countess' bedroom window and trying to fathom how anyone was able to get into the house without being noticed.

"Lestrade is no more of an inspector than I am a French prostitute." Holmes riposted.

"I'm not so su –––" The count began to say, but was quickly cut off by Holmes.

"What is that?" Holmes exclaimed, looking up at the countess' window.

The count looked up, but could not spot anything. "What is what?" He asked.

"_That_," Holmes said, pointing towards the window. "Upon the window sill. It glimmers in the moonlight."

"Ah, yes, I see it."

Lying upon the window sill, close to the corner, was a shining object that reflected the light of the moon. It was impossible to tell what is was from a distance, but it was tiny, no doubt.

The men gazed at it for a moment before speaking up.

"Shall we?" Holmes invited.

Count Boswell didn't reply, but simply led him back into the building.

Once upstairs in the countess' bedroom, they rushed over to the window. Holmes was first to grab the object, but was careful in doing so. He held it up to the light.

"A button!" The count exclaimed once he saw it.

"It's made of some sort of glass," Holmes inspected. He paused only a moment before slipping the tiny object into the pocket of his waistcoat. "I'll be able to tell more once I return home." He said.

"I do remind you that neither Lestrade nor I have hired you yet, Mr. Holmes." The count said pompously.

Holmes smirked. "Yes, I know. But I will be receiving a call from your wife tomorrow, hiring me. I've no doubt."

The count scowled. "Then you will be hired tomorrow, but for now, by taking that button with you, you are obstructing a crime scene."

He rolled his eyes. "Have it your way – I'll leave the button there on the window sill." He removed the small object from his pocket and left it on the window sill, where it was previously placed.

Holmes turned swiftly from the window and made his way over to the body, the count watching him. He leaned over the body, inspecting it thoroughly.

"The cause of death appears very evident, though it is not certain that she died from this gunshot." He thought aloud. "We'll have to have a physician determine that. What we can only tell is that someone shot her. There are no signs of strug –––"

"Who exactly are you speaking to?" The count asked, interrupting him.

Holmes turned around and looked at him for a moment. "No one." He quickly returned to his work.

"There are no signs of struggle, though there are several pricks upon her fingers ––"

"Those are from sewing," The count interrupted again. "Lorraine made dresses for the other maids and for herself. She was quite clumsy,"

Holmes ignored him. "— and a deep scar running from the inner elbow on the right arm down to the palm… what's this?" He said as he opened her hand to inspect the scar, there was something held tight in her fist.

He pulled back her fingers slowly to reveal a piece of paper that was balled up in her fist.

Count Boswell walked to him to see what he had, and read as Holmes unveiled the parchment.

It was a short letter, and ran in this way: ––

"Dear Friend,

"I'm sorry to cause such a fuss. It needed to be done.

"Signed,

"The Phantom Thief, as I am called in the papers."

Holmes looked at the count once they were both finished reading. "Do you know of the 'Phantom Thief'?"

"No," He replied plainly. "Do tell."

Holmes subtly slipped the paper into his pocket and stood from his squatting position. "Well, there has been a series of thieveries around London lately. I have had the pleasure of being assigned to every one of them." He said sarcastically.

"In each thievery, the thief leaves a small slip of paper signed 'The Thief'. No one has seen the thief, and Scotland Yard doesn't even have a suspect. They've named him the Phantom Thief, because he leaves no evidence – as if he's a ghost."

"Was it this thief who stole my wife's jewels?"

"I believe so. There was a package dropped at my doorstep containing the jewels. The letter that came with it had no post-mark, and it wasn't signed, but the handwriting matched the notes from the Phantom."

"So if the Phantom returned the jewels, then why would he come back to the house?"

Holmes thought for a moment. "I have no idea."

------

"Who does he think he is!" Rosaline shouted, pacing to and fro about Maude's room.

When her husband had first suggested that she spend the night at a friend's house, Rosaline's mind went straight to Maude. She quickly packed some of her things, and had one of the chauffeurs drive her to Maude's house in the city.

Countess Maude Gleeson was Rosaline's best friend, and somewhat of a mentor to her. She was a level-headed woman with her own set of thoughts and beliefs that no one could change.

"In James's defence, I would have done the same thing," Maude replied to her complaint.

"You're supposed to be supporting me."

"Oh, I apologize. Begin again."

"Who does he think he is!" Rosaline repeated, throwing her hands into the air. "Just because I am a woman doesn't mean I'm forbidden to see a dead body!"

"You're completely right, Rose."

"Thank you."

Maude yawned. "Now can we please go to bed? I'm awfully tired."

Rosaline also yawned. "Of course. I'm not sure how I can sleep when there's a dead body in my bedroom, though."

She climbed into the bed and pulled the thick covers over her shoulder.

"Your bedroom is miles away, Rose." Maude said as she went around the room turning off all of the oil lamps.

"I know," Rosaline said quietly.

Once done turning off the lamps, Maude also slipped into bed.

"But just the fact that I know is enough to make me ill."

Maude didn't reply, and turned away from her friend and dug her face into her pillow, trying to fall asleep.

"Maude?" Rose interrupted after a few moments of eerie silence. "May I ask you a question?"

"What is it?" Maude said, rather frustrated, as she turned around to face her friend.

"Do you recall that Sherlock Holmes that I told you about?"

"Yes, what about him?"

"I have a certain fondness toward him." Rose admitted reluctantly.

Maude sat up almost immediately and leaned against the headboard. Rose did the same.

"I've been told he's the most insensitive being in all of England. Why are you fond of him?"

Rosaline shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"That's not very logical."

"Neither are emotions."

"This is true."

The two friends sat there in silence, thinking about what they had just discussed with each other.

"Would betray James for this Sherlock Holmes?" Maude asked.

"No."

"Don't lie to me, Rose. I can always see when you are lying."

Rosaline paused. "I'm not sure, Maude. I'm afraid that I will, though."

"Would you like my advice?"

"Very much so."

"Don't allow yourself to be alone with him. It might lead to something. That is, if he would be willing to return the feelings."

Rose scoffed. "Are you saying that he wouldn't be attracted to me?"

Maude rolled her eyes. "Of course not! Have you seen the way men look at you? I'm just saying, a man with Sherlock Holmes' reputation would be expected to deny any woman."

She nodded. "Thank you, Maude."

"Any time, dear."

They hugged, and both lied back down. Rose found it hard to sleep, but eventually drifted away.

-----

It was past midnight when Holmes returned to London. The ride from the Boswell's large estate in the countryside back to Baker-street was a long and bumpy one, but it served as a perfect time for Holmes to mull over the case which he had just been given.

But even with all this time to think about the case, the only details that he could gather were obvious:

The thief had broken into the home. It was impossible for him to climb the building through the countess' window, so he had to have broken into the home from some other point. Then while in the countess' bedroom, Lorraine, the maid, had caught him, to which he reacted with a gunshot.

He then quickly scribbled a note and left it with the maid. In his hurry to leave, a button had ripped from the thief's clothing.

The only points that Holmes could not get over were why he left a note, and how he escaped. If he knew that he only had a few seconds to escape after the gunshot sounded, why did he take time to leave a note?

Then, how could he have escaped through that window? It was a long jump, and even if he did jump, how was it that he was still well enough to run?

When the carriage stopped, Holmes stepped out before the footman could help him. He thanked both the chauffer and the footman before being let into the apartment by Mrs. Hudson.

"You have to get home earlier," She complained when she came to the door. "I'm tired of being awaked in the dead of night to open a door."

Holmes ignored her and hurriedly climbed the stairs to his apartment and slipping in quietly.

It was warm in the room, as it always was, but he started a fire regardless.

After hanging his coat and scarf up on the rack and placing his shoes by the fire to dry, Holmes put on his slippers and leaned back into his chair.

It was getting lonely in his humble Baker-street apartment. Even though Mrs. Hudson was still there, he found it lonely without Watson.

His friend still visited, but his visits were becoming scarcer, and Holmes felt as if their friendship was not the same as it had been before Mary Morstan.

After lighting up a pipe, Holmes wrapped himself up in a blanket and stretched his feet out toward the fire, warming them from the harsh winter winds that rattled the house.

He found his mind bouncing between Watson and the Phantom Thief, but it was hard to concentrate on the latter. His mind had settled on Watson when drowsiness won the battle against willpower.

With the fire beginning to die and a thick blanket wrapped around him, the pipe slowly tumbled to the floor and Holmes head fell to his shoulder.

A quiet peace fell upon the room as its only occupant drifted off into a deep slumber and the moonlight gave an eerie glow to the soft snowfall covering London.


End file.
